


TAKE ME OUT PT.1

by AgnesClementine



Series: FIGHTERS OF THE GOOD FIGHT [7]
Category: Supernatural, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Diego and Dean work on their first real solo case. There are also feelings.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, look at that nice, double-meaning title up there :D Also, look at those poor tags and that sucky summary lol. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

There’s a certain kind of rush that takes over your body during a hunt. It feels like you’re closed in a cubicle, big enough not to see its walls, but still small enough that you can feel them crowding you in. And you’re driving a car with no brakes, not knowing if you’ll crash into one of those walls, or you’ll run out of gas before that happens. Diego hasn’t crashed into any of them yet. When his car would roll to a stop, he’d get out, fresh air washing over him, and look over to Dean.

There’s a certain kind of rush that takes over your body during a hunt. It’s not the same rush that takes over Diego when Dean grins at him.

  * ●●●●



He’s back in that poisoned dream. Colors dance on his eyelids, painting them like canvas, lips grazing over his own like softest of paintbrushes, more disturbed air than anything else.

He’s free and he still keeps returning to this.

He could count Dean’s freckles from this close. There’s a set of amber colored glasses back in the kitchen, all fancy with sides like brushed diamonds. When Diego was younger, he’d hold them up in front of a window and watch as the light going through them sends tiny, twinkling stars dancing over his skin. They’d get lost in the clutter of little specks of gold over the bridge of Dean’s nose and the arch of his cheekbones.

He doesn’t want to torture himself like this, but he still does.

A quick rap of knuckles on the window glass brings him back from the near-psychedelic illusion and he jerks into a clear sitting position, blinking the colors from his eyes.

Dean waves a Mars bar at him from the outside.

They’ve stopped at yet another Godforsaken gas station in the middle of nowhere, with weeds sprouting from the cracks in asphalt and faded lettering on the store’s front window. To Diego, they all look the same, nonexistent until someone comes in and sprinkles some life from the road over them. Even if he can see a row of houses down the street from this one, and a diner across from it.

He gets out of the car, joints popping as he stretches, and catches the candy Dean tosses him.

“Where are we?” He asks with a yawn, tearing off the wrapper and following Dean to lean against the Impala’s door.

“Elcho,” Dean tells him, biting into his Snickers bar, “Wisconsin.”

Diego hums in acknowledgment, sneaking glances of the arising sun turning Dean’s hair golden.

“We’re sticking around?”

They’ve been driving around for about a week, making their way to South Dakota with no definite plan in mind. Honestly, Diego is more than happy to just spend his time driving mindlessly through the country, though he could do with a change of music choices- there’s nothing wrong with AC/DC, Dean, but at this point, he’s sure he has every song imprinted in his memory forever. But driver picks the music and at the mere suggestion to take a wheel for a bit, Dean looked like he was fighting off an aneurysm.

(“I’ve seen you drive, Diego, you’re a fucking menace.”)

“Nah, just wanted to stretch my legs,” Dean responded, standing up on the tips of his toes to emphasize the point.

“Who did you dream about, anyway? Paris Hilton?” He asks with a joking leer.

Diego keeps his mind and face carefully blank and responds flatly, “Bradley Cooper.”

He’s pretty sure that’s the guy who was “the sexiest man alive” this year. Or was it last year? Personally, the guy’s not so bad looking, but Diego thinks calling him the sexiest man alive is a bit of an overkill. At least if the guy he has in mind is Bradley Cooper. He really doesn’t care much about celebrities unless they’re in some way connected to Allison.

He’s not gonna lie, even without her power, his sister is one hell of an actress and she’s been steadily climbing up the movie industry ladder. It’s impressive, but he’d be more proud if they had parted on better terms.

“Huh,” is Dean’s comment and suddenly Diego wonders if he should’ve been more thoughtful with his response. It was meant to be a joke, but Dean might have taken it as a confession to something more than a dream.

It could have been, of course, but it wasn’t.

Dean shakes his head, “Wanna go grab breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

He’s not sure having an internal freak-out over breakfast would be better than this- but damn, he’s hungry.

  * ●●●●



Diego is slurping his way through his cup of coffee, while Dean stuffs his face with pancakes, and observing the scenery when a police cruiser rolls to a stop at the gas station.

He stabs a piece of his omelet and watches two police officers getting out and heading towards the store, the cashier rushing out to meet them. They start speaking animatedly, the cashier going through a series of emotions that Diego can recognize by his body movements only; he settles on waving his arms around in distress, jabbing his fingers at officers.

“What’s that about?” Dean voices, speaking around a mouthful of food in his mouth.

Diego shrugs, not having a clue. He snatches the town’s newspaper from the table to flick through out of boredom and then his eyes get caught on the headline.

“Hey, look at this,” he says, nudging Dean’s ankle with his foot to distract him from his breakfast, “the missing five still not found.”

“Huh? What’s that?” Dean asks, leaning over the table to take a look.

Diego lays the paper on the tabletop, so he can see and starts reading, “Julie Castor and four others disappeared in the span of two weeks, have still not been found. The authorities advise the people to stay in their homes after nightfall and not to go near the forest.”

“That sounds sketchy to me. Does that sound sketchy to you?” Dean asks immediately.

“What, you think we just stumbled onto a hunt?” Diego asks skeptically because that feels too easy. So easy it could actually be possible, damnit.

Dean shrugs, “It costs us nothing to check it out, right?”

Diego can’t argue with that.

A truck loaded with tree logs drives by and he sighs, agreeing.

  * ●●●●



“This feels ridiculous,” Diego says grumpily, fiddling with links on the cuffs of his uniform shirt.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dean calls through the bathroom door of the motel room they’ve rented, “if this is a hunt, we need a cover.”

Diego rolls his eyes because that’s literally been Dean’s argument for everything and flops down on the bed he claimed for himself.

“We can be nosy and ask around about missing people without posing as US Wildlife Service,” he calls back.

He might be a hypocrite, complaining about dressing up for a job, but he really hates formal wear (everything that includes a dress shirt and cuff links counts as formal wear).

The door cracks open and Dean pokes his head out to say lightly, “You’re being a real little bitch about this, you know.” He looks over Diego and asks with a frown, “The hell’s wrong with you?”

Diego scrunches up his face. “I don’t like dress shirts. Didn’t like them in my school uniform, don’t like them now,” he admits.

Dean freezes on the doorway, his face doing a strange exchange of expressions, and then asks, “School uniform?”

_Shit._

“Uh.”

“You had a school uniform? I thought you were homeschooled. Oh my God, did you- _Diego, did you wear a school uniform in your house?_ ”

“Forget I said that,” Diego pleads, his hope sinking as Dean shakes his head, eyes filling up with mischievous, downright evil gleam.

“Forgetting that? No way. Were there shorts? I’m trying to construct an image in my head. What color was it?”

_Christ._

Diego presses his lips into a thin line, signaling that he has no intentions of indulging him.

“Did you have to wear a tie? Knee high socks? Aw, don’t be embarrassed, I’m sure you looked fantastic.”

Diego doesn’t dignify that with a response either, giving Dean a glare despite the feeling of heat overtaking his face.

Dean only gives him a cheeky smile as a rebuttal.

“You’re a jerk,” he says at last, taking the silence as an opportunity to get up and flee toward the door.

“Let’s go see what’s up with this disappearances,” he mutters and gets out, Dean’s laughter following him to the parking lot.

“We’ll talk about this later!” Dean calls after him.

“ _We absolutely won’t._ ”


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long ass week, but I'm here, I've got a new update and uh, yeah.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

They go to snoop around the police station first, immediately faced with questions that are essentially, “The fuck’s US Wildlife Service doing here?” and answer with things that can simply be interpreted as “Well, you’re surrounded by a fucking forest.” Suffice to say, they load their hands with case files and flee before anyone decides to bring up their suspicious youth or Diego’s scar.

“All the missing people are kids,” Diego says later when they’re digging through the files in their motel room.

“Yeah, and they all lived relatively close to the woods,” Dean adds, shifting through a pile of papers he claimed for himself. He didn’t bother with shucking the dress shirt as soon as they arrived as Diego did, but he had unbuttoned the first few buttons, leaving his throat exposed and distracting Diego from his work.

“So, what are we thinking? Some kind of a tree monster?”

Dean shrugs, the fabric pulling taut over his shoulders, “Dunno. Probably. We need to investigate further.”

That further is put to a stop when his phone rings. Dean grapples for it and answers with a grunt, spreading paper sheets in front of himself.

“Hm? Yeah, we’re in Wisconsin. We found a case, so we’ll head over as soon as we wrap things up here,” He says into the speaker.

Diego pulls the papers over and picks out the photos of kids ranging between ages of 5 to 7 while Dean talks. They all have toothy, and in more cases, toothless grins for cameras, cheeks full with baby fat and eyes bright. One of the kids reminds him of Klaus but his brother never smiled so wide genuinely.

The detail on the information sheet catches his eyes and he frowns curiously, flipping through other papers to compare them. He nudges Dean’s elbow with his own and shoves the papers over to him.

Dean reads, lifts his eyes to meet Diego’s and says, “Gotta go, Diego found something. I’ll call you back,” before hanging up.

“They all match,” Diego says, finger jabbing at the fathers’ job occupation written on one of the papers.

Dean grins, “Alright, that’s what I’m asking. We might be done with this before Friday.”

  * ●●●●



Elcho gets most of its funding by shipping out the wood from the forest surrounding it. Diego never heard of it, but he’s sure people and big companies pay a pretty buck for those gorgeous oaks.

So, really, he wasn’t surprised when the first family they went to visit ended up owning a nice two-story house that could as well be out of a movie with rose bushes out front and a family minivan parked in front of the garage.

Dean whistles, getting out of the Impala.

“Wood industry pays off, huh?”

“I suppose,” Diego agrees, following after him. The house is nice, but when Diego imagines living there with all of his siblings squeezed in, his stomach rolls. Not enough space. And Mom would get bored to death in it.

Before they even reach the front door, a tall, plump man emerges from the backyard, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. He looks at them inquisitively.

“Can I help you?”

Dean clears his throat and steps out to offer him his hand, introducing them both, “Hi, we’re with the police. External partners, so to speak.”

“Oh, Robert Hawks,” the man says, taking his hand, “this is about the kidnapping?”

“Yeah, we’re doing a follow up on the investigation,” Diego pipes up, shaking hands as well, “in case the police missed something, you know.”

Hawks nods in understanding, gestures them towards the house and says, “Well, come on in.”

  * ●●●●



There is not much to go on from what they got in the interview this far. It was basically just a retelling of everything they read in the case files, and Diego is losing his faith in the purpose of this visit until Hawks’ wife- a petite, tiny woman with soft features- sets down their coffee and interrupts whatever her husband was about to say.

“Thank God you’re on a leave. What would I do if whatever lurks in those woods got you too?” She says sadly, dark circles under her eyes showing how desperate she is to get her child back.

“Whatever lurks in those woods?” Dean latches on immediately because that is new.

Hawks shifts in his seat, clearing his throat, “It’s just a damn myth. A local fairy tale for kids.”

At the same time, his wife says, “Elcho is so successful because of the spirit.”

Diego inches closer to the edge of the couch, leaning forward to mimic Dean’s position and ask, “The spirit? What kind of a spirit?”

“It’s nothing, I tell you,” Hawks reassures them but his wife swats him on the shoulder with a dishcloth and tuts in disapproval.

“This is why it’s doing this!” She exclaims.

“People here have forgotten about what it has done for them. Of course it’s angry and taking its revenge now,” she says, stubbornly and self-assured like she believes every word of it.

Diego and Dean exchange a short side-glance before facing her again.

“We didn’t hear anything about the spirit. Can you tell us more?”

She opens her mouth to speak but her husband interrupts with a huff.

“How the hell does a town’s myth got anything to do with our son getting kidnapped?” He demands gruffly.

Diego blinks, “Uh,” he starts, “well, um, there is a possibility of a serial kidnapper. Who thinks he’s doing this spirit’s bidding. And so it would be good to know more about the spirit itself. Like, was there an occult-like following in the town?” He directs the question at the woman, Hawks grumbling in the background.

“Oh! Well, let me see...” she mutters more to herself than anyone else.

“While my partner and your wife are at it, why don’t you tell me more about your job,” Dean suggests, leading the husband away. Diego is grateful because the man seems like the type who would huff and puff and scowl the whole time.

“We can start with the myth your husband mentioned,” he proposes.

“Right,” she agrees, smoothing out the wrinkles on her skirt, “the story goes that when the people first founded Elcho it was nothing but a wasteland. Poor crops, not ideal for livestock, the forest was nothing more than a few twigs. Then, one of the settlers revealed he brought a Japanese forest spirit from his journey. He and other settlers begged it to revive the nature around their town in exchange for its freedom. So it did. And it lived happily in that forest ever since,” she finishes with a content smile.

Diego nods, “Until people started chopping it up for profit.”

She nodded in response, smile falling away.

“Exactly.”

  * ●●●●



“So?” Dean asks him as soon as they’re back in the car and driving away.

“I’ve got my money on some kind of a spirit alright,” Diego says immediately.

It’s probably only his subconsciousness making things up, but now that he knows something supernatural and powerful enough to turn a few measly weeds into a full-on forest might be near, it feels like he can almost sense it here. Kind of like it coated everything in a thick layer of its energy and they’re pushing through it. It feels familiar, but Diego is not sure what to compare it with yet.

“Fantastic. The only thing worse than your everyday ghosts is an ancient Japanese spirit throwing a hissy fit,” Dean grumbles.

“That’s oddly specific,” Diego comments, “something you want to share with the class?”

Dean pulls a face, “No, you know what I mean. But while we’re at sharing- about that school uniform of yours…”

Diego groans and thumps his face against the dashboard.

  * ●●●●



“But seriously, the uniform, Diego,” Dean nags, pointing a fork at him before scooping a piece of cherry pie on it and shoving it in his mouth.

Diego feels the heat rising on his face because, God, this was not nearly as embarrassing when they were kids. Back then, he didn’t really give a shit about wearing a uniform- everyone wore it and it was alright aside from those stupid dress shirts with a billion buttons and a tie he still doesn’t know how to tie properly.

“C’mon,” Dean whines, “I mean, I pretty much know nothing about you! You know next to everything about me!”

Diego frowns because, “What? You know a lot about me.”

Dean splutters, “A lot? I know your name and last name, that you have some kind of a knife fetish- you do, nobody has so many knives just for the kicks- and that you don’t like onions and dress shirts. I don’t even know your birthday.”

Diego opens his mouth to disagree, but then he stops to think and- and then he clamps his mouth shut again because Dean is right. He supposes he hasn’t exactly been too forthcoming with information about himself. His frown deepens and he starts chewing on the inside of his cheek, thumb worrying the dull edge of a knife from the diner’s cutlery.

“Shit,” Dean says then, “I- I shouldn’t have said anything. I get it, you know, you don’t have to tell me anything, it was stu-“

“No, it’s- it’s fine,” Diego interrupts.

“October 1st,” he adds.

“What?”

“My birthday. It’s October 1st,” Diego clarifies, feeling this conversation is already going off the track and onto a dirt side-road.

“Oh,” Dean responds.

“And, “ God, this will suck so much, “it was dark blue.”

“What?”

“The uniform,” Diego pushes out, “it was dark blue with red lining.”

Dean’s face pulls into a grin. Diego regrets relenting to this.

“Knee socks?”

“…Yes.”


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how satisfied I am with this because, honestly, guys, it's so boring. Next chapter should be more fun, pinky promise. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)

_Diego watches the courtyard from his window, eyes wide with childish glee, mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ as thick flecks of snow float towards the ground. It’s been snowing since last night; at evening, the ground was barely covered with a thin sheet of white- now, Diego imagines he could lay down and fall right through._

_His fascinated observation is interrupted by numerous footsteps thundering above his head. The staircase leading to the attic._

_He turns away from the window just as his door cracks open and Vanya, all bundled up, pokes her head in to inform him conspiratorially, “We’re going to the roof to play in the snow. Come on.”_

_Stepping into his boots and snatching his coat, gloves, and the scarf, he follows her out the door._

_When they emerge to the rooftop terrace, Vanya goes off to join Allison at making angels in the snow. Ben is huddled near the door, nose and cheeks pink from the cold, and the hat he has is pulled so low on his head it’s almost covering his eyes._

_He’s looking at Luther and Klaus- equal parts amusement and concern- who are, uh, doing whatever that is._

_Luther is holding Klaus upside down, by his ankles, spinning him in circles. Klaus is screaming in delight, arms outstretched and fingertips grazing the snowy ground, spraying snow all around them. His scarf flies off at the latest spin, landing on a bare branch of a potted abutilon in the corner._

_It looks like they’re having fun, Diego thinks- then something cold and wet falls to the back of his neck, despite the scarf he wrapped around it, immediately melting and running down his spine-_

_Diego doesn’t shriek. He doesn’t. Vanya and Allison shriek because their voices are ever so high pitched. Klaus shrieks, when he gets overexcited for whatever reason. On a particular occasion, Luther shrieks as a response to Klaus’ shrieks when they have a secret horror movie marathon. Diego doesn’t shriek._

_“Ben,” he shouts, feeling like a fool because really, the quiet ones are the evil ones. He should have known._

_Ben tries to jump out of his reach but doesn’t quite manage it as Diego snatches the back of his collar and brings them both down. They land with a puff of snow, creating a crater around them as Ben tries to wiggle out of Diego’s grip._

_“Help!” He cries, spluttering when Diego unceremoniously slaps a handful of snow in his face._

_“Diego!” Allison scolds half-heartedly._

_Diego throws a snowball at her._

_She yelps and then narrows her eyes at him. The war begins._

_Before they know it, snowballs are shooting through the air like bullets, the sounds of their impact drowned out by childish screaming and whooping. Diego is flushed, feeling hot despite the fact his clothes have soaked through a while ago, and he launches a snowball at Luther, hitting him square in the face as Klaus starts screaming._

_“Ahhh! Wait! Abort! Abort! There’s snow in my underwear!” He screeches, sitting on the ground, legs spread and arms outstretched._

_Ben chortles first, Allison and Vanya following with surprised giggles, then Luther and Diego with breathy snickers. They’re all red in faces, shaking with laughter._

_If they’re being honest, they’re too old for this. 14 and counting, but Dad never let them have fun like this. It wasn’t productive, he’d say, a child’s play. Irresponsible._

_Diego, thinking he’s already wet to his skin so whatever, plops down in a heap of snow that was his improvised barrier against the enemy fire._

_Klaus sighs, “Well, either my balls crawled up into my body, or the snow melted and started to warm up.”_

_Diego snickers again, grimacing at the announcement._

_Everything is quiet for a moment while they catch their breath, snow peppering down over them as it starts to fall gently. It catches in Allison’s dark hair and Luther’s light eyelashes, melting against Vanya’s warm cheeks. Ben sticks his tongue out, waiting for a few to land on it._

_Diego tips his head up, squinting at grey-white clouds._

_“I hope there’s snow where Five is,” Ben says into silence._

_Diego hopes so too. Five loved snow._

_Nobody says anything._

  * ●●●●



The day starts hot, humid air filling up everything, clinging to their pores and stuffing their noses with warmth. Diego almost didn’t want to leave the room.

And that was before the downpour.

What was a morning in hell suddenly turned into a flood from heavens while they were making their way through the forest, looking for clues as to what this spirit might be. The sky opened up and drenched everything within minutes.

Diego grimaces at how his clothes stick to him, wet and heavy, boots caked with mud. He thinks he spies a flash of blue in the corner of his eye, turns his head, finds nothing there.

Dean is cursing, stomping down the trail leading back to the road.

“You better have rolled up the window, or so God help me-“

“I rolled it up, I already told you, Jesus,” Diego barks over the white noise of falling rain.

A feeding ground for deer covered with an eave catches his eyes and he swerves off the trail toward it.

“I kno- where are you going?” He hears Dean’s footsteps following him despite the question.

“The trek back is at least an hour long, more with the slippery ground now,” he says, “maybe it will ease up if we wait a bit.”

Dean grumbles but steps underneath a makeshift roof next to him. His hair is plastered on his forehead, water dripping off his nose.

Diego shakes his head, waterdrops flying, and leans against one of the support beams.

“You know, one of these days we’ll just have to admit we have no luck with hiking and be done with it,” he says conversationally, looking out at the fuzzy field through a curtain of rain.

Dean snorts, says, “You first.”

It’s not as cold as you’d expect from a sudden downpour without a trace of light anywhere, as clouds have obscured the sun, but the situation reminds Diego of drills; leaves and mud and roots, and his siblings all around him, Dad’s whistle ringing in their ears.

“Wow, that’s a glum face if I ever saw one,” Dean comments, jerking him out of the memory.

He shakes his head again, considers blowing it off, but then decides, “Just thinking about my dad.”

“Oh,” Dean says, clears his throat, “what about him?”

He shrugs, “Stupid stuff. It’s… I don’t know. Sometimes it’s weird even calling him ‘dad’.”

Dean comes to lean against the beam opposite to him, arms stuffed in his jeans’ pockets, poised to listen. Diego sighs.

“You know, we had to watch movies in secret because he thought that TV was filling our heads with useless things.”

Dean’s eyebrows twitch up, “He never let you watch TV? Not even, like, cartoons when you were kids?”

Diego chews at the inside of his cheek, “Documentaries. On World Wars, Holocaust. That kind of stuff. I think he wanted to- to show us what kind of evil lives in the world. What we’re supposed to be protecting it from.”

“Shit,” Dean breathes out.

Diego scoffs, self- deprecating, “Funny thing is, the only thing I noticed and remember from those documentaries is how the soldiers were just blindly following the leader.”

It was like a bucket of cold water dropped on his head the first time he came to that conclusion. But he was just a stupid kid, he couldn’t do anything. Sometimes, it seemed like Five got it too, but in the end, it didn’t matter because soon he was gone and Diego was still just one stupid kid.

Dean is frowning at the ground, glaring at imprints of hooves in the barely dry soil.

“That’s fucked up,” he says sharply. “Did he at least tell you why you’d have to do it?”

“Because we could.”

“Fuck, that’s- I kind of hate your dad.”

Diego smiles wryly, “That’s fine. I despise him.”

  * ●●●●



When the rain finally relented a little, they made their way to the road as quickly as they could, while also trying not to twist their ankles on every step.

The air is blissfully cool now, fresh and light.

“- and, like, he’d send a message or call to let us know he couldn’t make it. So we’d plug in the lights and watch Christmas specials until Sam fell asleep. I dunno, though, it’s not like he didn’t want to be there, you know?”

Diego is not sure how they came to the topic of Christmas but he nods, responding, “Beats not celebrating it at all.”

“Seriously?”

“We were never really big on celebrating anything. It wasn’t important.”

“Dude-“ something blue flashes ahead of them and Diego’s eyes snap to it reflexively, still naively after all of those years.

“The fuck,” Dean says, frowning at the police cruiser parked next to his Impala.

“Hey! Can we help you?” He calls out, quickening his pace. Diego follows after him.

“Hang on, Jeff,” a police officer speaks into his receiver before turning to fully face them.

“Is this your car, son?” He asks Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “is there a problem?”

The officer scratches his scruffy cheek, “Not at all. I just saw a car by the road, thought we had another missing person on our hands.”

“Sorry for the scare. We just went for a short hike and got caught in the downpour,” Diego pipes up.

The man glances at him, looking him over, and nods.

“Yeah, it came down like God and all the angels took a piss at the same time,” _well that’s one way to put it_ , “Forecast said it’s gonna be like that for the next few days. Maybe the whole week.”

Dean and he exchange a look.

_Terrific._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this chapter is winter themed, considering it's summer, but my brain doesn't make sense most of the time so it's not that weird. *shrug*


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst and illegal shit ahead :D
> 
> Enjoy! :)

They camp out in the library that night, after a quick detour to the motel to get changed into something dry. The place is pretty much deserted, save for the half-asleep, middle-aged librarian dozing at the register.

Diego flips a page of some old newspaper that was laying within his reach, glancing at the piles of books spread over the table from the corner of his eyes. They’re trying to figure out what kind of a spirit they’re dealing with exactly because- surprise, surprise- you can’t get rid of them all in the same way. Because of course life can’t be that simple.

“God, research sucks,” Dean grumbles, not much more enthusiastic with his book than Diego is with his newspaper.

Diego just hums in agreement, eyes skimming over sentences and letters while barely registering them.

They go like that for a while longer, going through dusty papers in relative silence- the librarian has started to snore when Diego was on his second book- as the rain outside started pouring again.

“Shit,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “I need a break.”

Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair and throwing his head back for a jaw-popping yawn.

“This is bullshit. The whole town seemingly knows about the spirit, but there’s nothing written on it? What the fuck?”

Diego only blinks in agreement. He needs coffee. Or a slice of lemon to bite into. Something to keep him awake, anyway. There’s nothing to get you ready for sleep like spending hours digging through old books in an empty library.

“You seen a coffee machine here somewhere by any chance?” He asks through a yawn of his own.

Dean nods, points down a row of books and to the left.

He clambers to his feet and follows his directions. Rain-covered windows cast distorted shadows over the floor and Diego gets lost in a random pattern, the sound of the storm outside lulling him into a sense of peace. He always slept better when it rained outside; something about constant noise made everything feel less cramped, somehow. And, stupid as it is, he used to think nobody would bother to get out of their own shelters to break into their house, so they’d be safe. At least for that one night.

He gets back to their table with two scorching hot, disposable cups of coffee, cradling one to his chest and setting the other in front of Dean.

“Oh. Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

Diego waves him off, “It’s on me. Found anything?”

Dean screws up his face in displeasure, shaking his head. “Nada,” he says, grabbing his cup and taking a small, careful sip out of it.

Diego braces himself and downs almost half of it in one go, swallowing quickly as not to feel the burn of the liquid. His mouth feels hot when he sets the cup down anyway, but at least he’s feeling more awake now.

Dean’s eyes are trained somewhere underneath his chin, and he wonders if he burned himself too because his face seems flushed with warmth. He clears his throat, dragging his eyes up to Diego’s, “This better not be a bust because I will- actually I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’s not gonna be pretty.”

Diego snorts, although he shares his sentiment. He scratches at his collarbone absently, thinking wistfully about his bed. Still, the sight of those parents desperate eyes tugs at him, won’t let him rest.

He can’t help but think about his brothers (everything seems to circle around to them, what everything comes down to, no matter what Diego does). How he has no idea if Five is alive or dead. No idea whether he’s stuck in past when none of them have been born yet, or in future, somewhere where they’re all dead already and he’s all alone. How Ben was always scared he’d end up where the monsters are, stuck with them for the eternity. He imagines the kids; some of them are the missing ones, others are his siblings and himself, running through a fog, freezing, shivering. Scared and alone, shouting and crying. It twists him up, fills him with an aching cold that runs down to his bones.

“Hey, what’s that?” Dean asks curiously.

“Hm?”

“On your collarbone,” Dean points at his own, hidden under a shirt and a flannel.

Diego looks down, spies an edge of a scar that curves over his shoulder and stops just where his collarbone stops being visible. It’s thin and pale, just slightly raised, like the one on his face.

“Oh. A chirurgical scar. My shoulder popped out of its socket and it had to be opened up to put it back in place properly.” They were sparring and Luther shoved him into a wall harder than he intended to- it was just a bit after his power manifested, so he was still completely shit at moderating it. Diego just felt a sudden pop and then Mom was rushing him into the infirmary, Luther’s pale and wide-eyed face disappearing behind the corner. It got out on a really awkward angle, so Mom had to cut him open to get it back in without messing up his nerves and tendons.

“Damn,” Dean whistles.

Diego shrugs, “It was a long time ago.”

Besides, he doesn’t even remember how it felt, how much it hurt. He reckons that’s a plus.

“Can I ask you something?”

Diego nods.

“So, about your dad. I mean, I know I already asked, and you’re probably fed up with it, but I just- I don’t know. I guess I’m trying to understand him.”

“Understand Reginald Hargreeves?” Diego chuckles. “Don’t bother, nobody understands Reginald Hargreeves except Reginald Hargreeves. And he’s not too forthcoming with explanations.”

“What? Nothing?”

Diego chews at his cheeks, “He’s the kind of a man who can feed you a tale about how you’re made to do great things. Be a hero. And you’ll believe him,” he tips his head to the side, “until a certain point.”

“You don’t question a lot of shit when you’re a kid. Things just are the way they are. I, um, I remember when we were kids, like seriously, 5 or 6, and I thought that it was completely normal to run drills every morning. Shit, I didn’t even know how weird my n- name was until we started reading books.”

“Your name? ‘Diego’ is not that weird. Am I missing something?” Dean frowns.

Diego shakes his head.

“It’s not important.” He doesn’t mind his number, not really. It’s more like- he hates the weight Reginald put on it. How he used their numbers to separate them and set them up on this imaginary ladder. Two was a name like Grace was a name, or Pogo, or all those characters in Ben’s and Vanya’s books. And then Reginald turned it into a label.

“That is- I don’t even know. Shit, I haven’t even seen the guy once in my life and I want to punch his face in,” Dean says seriously.

“If the fucker wasn’t going to raise you properly, why the fuck did he adopt you all?”

Diego breathes out a laugh, “Who the fuck knows.”

Reginald was so busy training them to save the world that he forgot they’re just a bunch of kids.

He shakes his head.

“Anyway, it’s not like that matters anymore. The old bastard can choke on his own tongue in his sleep and I’ll live out the rest of my life as a happy, happy man.”

“Shit, I bet.”

Thunder crackles outside, painting everything white for a millisecond.

Dean’s eyes flicker down to the books that are strewn across the table, at Diego, and then do a quick double-take down. He snatches one of the books in his hand and whoops.

“Yes! I fucking found something!”

  * ●●●●



‘Something’ turned into town records containing whereabouts of the ritualistic urn the spirit was kept in. It’s located in the local museum- Diego didn’t even know this town had a fucking museum- which leads them to this.

“What do you mean you need a picture? It’s a fucking vase with a lid! What does it matter what it looks like?” Dean grumps at his phone.

“It matters, you idjit,” a voice drawls, “because all ritualistic urns ain’t the same. You wanna know what spirit you’re dealing with, I gotta see what’s fucking written on the damn thing.”

Diego likes the Southern drawl just for the fact it’s nothing like his father’s carefully flat poshy accent.

Dean grumbles defeat, says his goodbye, and drives them toward the museum.

Now, finding the urn was not hard (the museum had like four exhibits). Photo taken and sent to Bobby, they quickly get informed what they’re dealing with.

They’re also made aware of the time limit (because of course there’s a fucking time limit).

Also, the cops show up.

Diego dashes down a small maze of hallways, thinks he managed to lose them before they even noticed he’s there. And finds out he lost Dean as well. Which is fantastic.

He stands to pant behind the building for a moment, catching his breath and cursing their luck. Then he slips into the crowd that has gathered out front, murmuring and watching curiously what’s happening.

As assumed, he finds Dean glumly glaring out of the backseat of a police cruiser, undoubtedly handcuffed.

“Shit,” he swears to himself, slipping underneath the police tape while no one’s watching and sneaking off towards Dean.

He blinks at him in surprise.

“Diego? What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses, looking around to see if anyone’s watching them.

“I’ll go to the woods,” he finds himself saying.

It has Dean whipping his head to stare at him like he grew a second head.

“Are you crazy? No. Wait until I get out of this mess. We’ll go together-“

Diego shakes his head, “There’s no time. We have until sunrise, you heard Bobby. I have to do something before those kids end up stuck…wherever they are. Forever.”

“And what exactly do you plan on doing?”

Diego swallows, “I’m not sure,” he admits, “I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s not the answer I hoped to hear, Diego,” Dean tells him.

Diego’s shoulders slump, “I can’t risk them getting lost.”

Dean sighs, “I’m just- fuck, it’s not worth it, Diego-“

“What, some kids’ lives aren’t worth it?”

“That’s not-“

“Who gave you the right to judge that-“

“I’m saying that the risk is too big-“

“-they are kids. And they are probably scared to death!”

“Jesus fuck, Diego! Would you shut up for a second, I’m saying that I’m worried you’re gonna disappear too!”

Now. Diego is a fucking moron, okay? It’s not exactly news. But, well, hauling Dean in by the collar of his jacket and smashing their lips together? That’s a new level of moronic for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah. Yell at me in the comments?


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Hi. :D 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Diego knows how to kiss. On a couple of occasions, he had taken a peek into a few of Allison’s magazines, skimmed over articles that promised to tell you what is a ‘perfect kiss’ and ‘how do you know if you’re a good kisser’. Sappy shit, all of it. But besides that, Diego wasn’t in a celibate before this. He dated, he experimented with… _stuff_. Especially once he moved out of the mansion. He has the experience.

Right now, though, his head is simultaneously completely blank and swarming with thoughts. His fingers are clutching Dean’s jacket so hard he thinks they’re about to cramp, heart beating in his fingertips, temples, behind his eyes, in his _lips_ \- oh god, his lips that are pressed against Dean’s lips.

_He’s kissing Dean_ , rational part of his brain says. The irrational part of his brain is screaming.

He can’t- god, he should move. He’s just bent awkwardly over a window of a police cruiser, his mouth slotted over Dean’s and not doing much. He should move.

So he does. He leans forward, pressing against Dean more- then thinks, is he pushing? Is he being pushy? And pulls back.

And then he thinks how Dean is quiet, not protesting, past the initial noise of surprise, and leans back in. He’s a mess.

Dean makes a noise of distress when his fingers dip down to snatch the Impala’s keys out of his pocket and yells out, “Diego!” as he finally steps back.

Diego doesn’t acknowledge it, disappearing back into the crowd with his face flaming and heart pulsing in his throat.

He throws himself into the driver’s seat, immediately caught with a feeling of misplacement since he’s never the one to drive, and, as he fires up the engine, begins to wonder how badly he fucked up. If he fucked up.

Dean and the crowd that’s gathered around the tiny museum steadily turn into nothing more than specks of dust in the rearview mirror and once he’s out of cops’ sight, he floors it towards the woods.

  * ●●●●



He hasn’t spoken to Bobby before, so the way he jerks in his seat when the older man picks up with a harsh, “What?” is an appropriate response.

“Uh, it’s Diego,” he says hesitantly, eyes on the road.

“Dean’s boy?”

He blinks, “I, um, suppose so? We-“

“What is it? You boys got a plan or something already?”

“Actually, Dean just got arrested,” Diego says because, well, better to get it out in the open, “and I’m going to the woods.”

“You idjits are doing _what_?”

“We’re on a deadline. I can’t just sit on my ass, twiddling my thumbs until Dean breaks out,” he defends himself.

“I still didn’t find how to stop the spirit,” Bobby responds. Which is a sound argument, Diego knows, but-

“You can call or tell Dean when you do. I’ll try, I don’t know, stall it?”

He’s not sure how he’ll do that, seeing how the midnight is when the spirit can permanently claim the kids’ souls for itself, but he has to at least try something.

Bobby grumbles something away from the speaker, then returns with a sigh, “Stubborn as a damn bull. Don’t get yourself killed, kid.”

Touched by unexpected show of concern (and not sure if the first comment was aimed at him), Diego responds, “Thanks. I’ll, um, try.”

  * ●●●●



He arrives at the edge of the forest way too soon. He could do with a few more minutes to come up with a plan but deep down, he knows it would be all the same.

He gets out of the Impala, pocketing the keys because he’s already on thin ice with taking them in the first place. If he just left them in the car, Dean would, without a doubt, punch him in the face.

That is if he doesn’t punch him for that kiss anyway.

Sighing, he starts trudging up the path leading further into the woods, shade from treetops adding to the cold that’s overcome air in the last few days. It’s still raining, just small sprinkles of raindrops, but the ground is muddy and everything is wet and miserable.

He doesn’t know how he hasn’t noticed it the last time, but the longer he walks, the more he can feel it. It’s the same familiar feeling of walking through a thick coating of energy from when they first found out about the spirit, like there’s something invisible, but bigger than life hiding in here. Diego still isn’t sure where he’s sensed it before, just knows he did. It clogs his airways, covering him like tar, and he _knows_ it’s not a new thing.

His boots are caked in mud again and he scrunches his face up in displeasure, dragging them over a raised tree root to get rid of some.

A wisp of pale mist curls around his ankle and he frowns. When he looks up, a white veil has been draped over everything, blue-tinted fog so thick he can’t see anything besides the tree he’s holding onto.

_This is not good_ , he thinks.

Then everything turns black.

  * ●●●●



_Glass crunches underneath his boots, the sudden quiet after an explosion of bullets and yelling deafening to his ears. He takes a moment to take stock of his body, to dismiss the pulsing points of pain as nothing more than bruises and cuts._

_Luther is doing a similar thing, rolling his shoulder with a wince; he got in the way and the Horror shoved him against the wall. It’s gonna leave a bruise, Diego doesn’t doubt, stepping over a crumpled body at his feet._

_The air feels thick like there’s too much of it in too small space, or like there’s something occupying it, something that wasn’t there before._

_“Welp, this went well!” Klaus pipes up, sitting on a wooden crate that has miraculously remained intact, kicking his feet and smoking a joint. A typical scene._

_“Really, Klaus?” Luther wonders with a scowl. Diego knows Dad is on his ass with watching how they behave on missions, and in this case, he agrees with him._

_Klaus responds by blowing out smoke in his general direction._

_Luther turns away before Diego can see his reaction and doesn’t say anything else._

_Ben cuts the tense silence by sighing loudly, asking, “Can we go home already? This sucks.”_

_The others look at him, grimacing at his general state of ‘blood and guts everywhere’ and sympathize. It’s not like there’s anything else for them to do now anyway. Bad guys are no more and they’re all tired._

_“Agreed! I need a shower!” Klaus exclaims._

_Diego looks down at his hands, scrubs his fingers over bloodied skin and tries picking blood from under his fingernails. Yeah, he could use a shower too._

  * ●●●●



When he wakes up, everything is quiet save for birdsong in the distance and breeze whispering nonsense through tree branches. He opens his eyes and looks out at the field stretching out in front of him, grass pale and interwoven with thick mist. Everything is faded, soft, and bathed in blue.

He lifts his hands to his face; they’re pale too, pastel blue and clean. He lets them lie by his sides, cushioned on soft moss.

Eyes closing again, he takes in a deep breath of air, lungs expanding until he can practically taste how fresh it is.

“Interesting memories you have,” a familiar voice says suddenly, causing him to almost choke and when he opens his eyes-

Five is standing above him, hands clasped behind his back, uniform speckless and without a single wrinkle. Only it’s not Five. Eyes are wrong, pupils reaching out into irises like combusting stars, swallowing them.

“You’re the spirit,” Diego says, lifting up to his elbows.

“A spirit,” it corrects with Five’s voice, “but yes.”

“Interesting form you picked,” Diego adds, wondering if it was for the sake of rattling him.

The spirit stands straighter, “Ah, yes. You seem fond of it. I thought you’d feel more comfortable if presented with something familiar.”

A fucked up way of thinking if Diego is being asked, but, “Thanks. I guess.”

The spirit smiles, “You’re welcome.”

This is so weird.

In the distance, Diego notices a group of kids. They’re running around, playing in tall grass.

“They’re all alright, don’t worry,” the spirit tells him.

He clambers to his feet to stand next to it, Five’s body tiny compared to his own. He forgot how small they all were as kids.

“Why did you take them?”

The spirit looks up at him, shrugs, “A lesson.”

“A lesson? No offense, but most of the people in the town completely forgot you exist.”

The spirit blinks at him, “That’s quite alright. People who know of the existence of something otherworldly often think they’re entitled to ask for something. Well, ask or threaten, that is. I’d rather not be bothered again.”

Diego frowns, “Why did you take the kids then? Why draw possible attention to yourself?”

“Half of a human’s personality is nurture,” it levels Diego with a knowing look, “I assume you of all humans should be aware of that.”

Diego swallows and wonders just how much of his memories the spirit has seen.

“Show a child how to spill blood and they’ll bring destruction with them their whole lives. Show them how to plant a flower and they’ll bloom in their footprints.”

“You kidnapped a bunch of kids to teach them gardening?” Diego jabs, even as the words still ring in his ears. Even though he understands; someone with a hammer in their hand their whole life is going to be shit with a stitching needle.

“They have not been harmed,” the spirit reassures him again.

“ _They_ should be in their homes, coddled by their moms, not… _here_ ,” he responds, sweeping his arm around to gesture at the field and the forest beyond.

The spirit cocks Five’s head to the side, observing him.

“I can’t give them back,” it says.

“Why not?”

Five’s body angles towards him. “They’ll be safe here,” the spirit responds, a terrifying imitation of a smile, teeth too white and too sharp, stretching over Five’s face.

He scrunches his eyebrows, trying not to stare at it too much, “Safe? Safe from what?”

If possible, the smile stretches further, unsettling and surreal.

“You’ll see,” the spirit says- and then starts screaming like a thousand crows started to screech at the same time, skin and everything else turning tight and smooth before it starts to melt. Diego stares, thinking, _new nightmare material, fantastic_ , as it turns into a puddle of liquid wax in front of him.

The mist around him grows thicker, kids disappearing from his sight, and everything turns black again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I gave myself nightmares with this one, so there's that.


	6. 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm still here. And I know that maintaining an updating schedule is not that easy sometimes, but I still feel kinda bad- it's no biggie, just this thing I have lol- so sorry for that. Anyway, here's the chapter.
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

The bastard. The fucking, goddamn, _unholy bastard_ took his car.

Dean fumes, wondering if nothing’s sacred anymore while he plays with the wires under the dashboard of a Honda Civic parked in the darkness.

And the kiss! The cheek on Diego, to kiss him like that, out of the blue, and then take off without a word.

But no, Dean is not thinking about that. He’s not. Really. Not even a little bit, as he finally gets the car started and dials Bobby’s number.

It’s just that- ugh. No.

“It’s Dean,” he says as soon as the call connects.

“So you hauled your ass out of the lock-up?”

He blinks at the response because, “Diego already called?”

“Damn right he did. That boy of yours is gonna get himself killed. More stubborn than all of you Winchesters combined, I swear,” Bobby says gruffly over the sound of shifting papers.

“He’s not-“ he starts to protest but then cuts off because _isn’t he_? At least now after- no. Not thinking about that.

“What did he say?”

Bobby huffs, “Went to the woods. He’s got no goddamn idea what he’s doing.”

“Right. Shit. Well, did you find anything on the spirit?” He asks, low-key hopeful.

“Yeah,” Bobby grunts, ”the spirit was brought over in a seed-“

Dean groans. “Figures. It’s a forest spirit. Perfect.”

He can already tell that the solution to this whole mess is not going to be as easy as he hoped for.

“Listen up, idjit. Doesn’t say what kind of a tree, but it’s got roots above the ground, around the trunk so that’s how you find it. That’s the spirit’s anchor and power source. Burn down the tree-“

“-get rid of the spirit.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, thanks, Bobby,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah. And prepare yourself for a lesson when you get here, your daddy’s got a few words for you.”

Shit, he’s gonna get his ass chewed out for getting arrested again.

He grimaces, “Right. Bye.”

It’s time to waste this spirit and save Diego’s stupid ass. Again.

  * ●●●●



“Oh, Baby, you’re okay!” He wails, stroking a hand over the roof of his Impala, parked on the side of the road. He circles it to inspect the paint, relieved to see there’s not a scratch on it. He trusts Diego but, well, he saw him drive and it was slightly horrifying.

The relief of finding his car aside, he still has Diego to find, something that’s going to be a real task considering it’s getting dark and there’s literally one tree in the whole forest he needs to find.

Trust Diego to get himself into something like this. He sure loves kidnappings with an expiration date; and okay, he didn’t know that was the case with the djinn hunt, but _c’mon._

He rifles through the trunk until he finds a flashlight, a container of salt, and a canister of gasoline. A spirit is still a ghost, he thinks, so a salt and burn should work. On a whim, he grabs an _omamori_ hanging on a hook of the fake bottom of the trunk as well.

Now, ready as he can be, he sets off into the woods.

  * ●●●●



Fog swarms around his feet, swirling in random patterns as he moves. He’s slow because he can’t see jack shit in this silver veil, and he feels vaguely nauseous, but can’t be bothered to stop. He thinks the fog is getting thicker the further into the woods he ventures, so he hopes that’s a sign he’s nearing to that damn tree. Because this fog sure as hell isn’t normal.

He trips over a root and swears, the wooden pendant around his neck clattering against the tree he used to brace himself.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he says to himself, brushing his hands on his jeans, and keeps walking.

He remembers the time when they used to live in Washington, some tiny town that had ghost problems and whose name Dean can’t remember. Dad was doing his own thing, and Dean was stuck babysitting Sammy- which wasn’t so bad since they spent days trudging through the woods behind the house they were renting.

Sure, there was decidedly less fog and more Sammy back then, but Dean has been a nostalgic bastard lately so he thinks the connection is justified.

He wonders if Diego did something like that with his siblings. If they ever went to just fool around and let loose in high grass and came home covered in mosquito bites, shaking dirt and bugs out of their hair.

He makes a mental note to ask him later and chokes when he suddenly passes through a thick wall of fog, just to emerge, coughing, in a small clearing, bathed in pale blue and silver. There’s a tree, black as night, covered in markings and intricate, fancy patterns. It appears like it’s swallowing the light around it, and like Dean could swipe a hand through it and it would vanish like smoke carried away on the wind.

“Bingo,” he says.

He starts pouring the gasoline on the roots, all over the smooth, black bark, then pours salt over it, tiny grains twinkling like stars in a night sky. On one hand, looking at it, he feels bad for what he’s about to do. But on the other, he needs to save Diego and those kids.

He lights a match, throws it, and watches as the flames consume the damn spirit tree, licking up its surface hungrily.

Suddenly, the fog rushes in, surrounding him until he can taste it in his throat, and everything slips from his sight.

  * ●●●●



_Diego feels cold. His toes and fingers almost blue, numb, curling against the tiled floor. He shivers, breathing hitched and unsteady, the sensation of his lungs expanding almost foreign after hours upon hours of keeping them still._

_He can hear his father’s pen scratching over the paper, making notes. Not caring about him. He’s done asking Diego questions, and now he doesn’t need him anymore._

_He sits up, goosebumps raising over his skin as his back comes into contact with the cold wall, and tucks his hands underneath the soles of his feet. He shudders._

_Mom should be here any moment with towels, warm, and thick, and not reeking of chlorine._

_Dad is still not looking at him._

  * ●●●●



He wakes up to his cheek resting on something cold, damp, and uneven. He can smell gravel and dirt, can feel tiny droplets of water doting his face once he rolls to his back.

“Shit,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of stopping the world from spinning.

“Diego!”

He tenses because he is so dead now.

“Diego!” Dean yells from somewhere around him, gravel crunching under his boots.

“Hey, open your eyes so I know you’re alive, idiot,” he says, tapping Diego’s cheek in a way that manages to irritate him into squinting up at him.

He can just make out Dean slumping in relief and then he can’t see anything again because he crowds in close and- oh, he’s kissing him.

Dean is kissing him.

He makes a startled noise in his throat, eyes flying open, stinging despite the lack of sun, and-

“Ewww!”

They jump apart with a pop, heads turning to face their audience.

Five children in various states of disarray, sleepiness, confusion- and disgust because _kissing is gross_ \- watch them with scrunched faces.

“I want my mom,” a boy whines, flopping down on the ground dramatically.

“Okay,” Diego says, feeling his cheeks warm up, and clambers to his feet when he realizes they’re in the middle of the road, Impala just a few feet away, “let’s get you kids home.”

They maneuver the group into the backseat- Dean looks physically pained at the sight of them, muddy and mildly wet on his pristine leather seats- and before they get in as well, Dean smacks him in the arm.

“Ow! The fuck!”

“That’s for taking my car.”

And then he pinches him.

“Dean!”

“That’s for making me save your ass again.”

And then he hauls him in by the front of his jacket, mouth warm and firm, kissing him surely.

“And that’s for running off before I could kiss you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omamori is a type of Japanese pendant; they're mostly for luck or protection as much as I know, and I think they're pretty neat.


	7. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is SUPER short, but I felt like I needed a bit more to finish this story, so this is the end of this installment.
> 
> I'm on the coast at the moment and we have a shitty wifi connection here, but I'll try starting a new installment as soon as possible!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

They drive the kids back to their parents, taking off before the teary ‘thank you’s could be said. It’s dark and cold, but Diego has only the spirit’s words and Dean’s actions on his mind. They haven’t really spoken since they got into the car, focused on other important things. Now they’re alone, Impala parked a few feet away, and both of them perched on a picnic table in a rest stop in the middle of nowhere.

Diego takes a slurp of his shake and topples backward, on his back, to look out at the starry sky. He wonders why Dean isn’t saying anything. Why _he_ isn’t saying anything.

He racks his brain for something that’s not idiotically blunt, comes up with, “Thanks for the save.”

Dean jerks and twists around to look at him. He nods.

“No worries.” After a beat, “About, um- I wasn’t going to kiss you. At first.”

_Oh._

Diego blinks, drums his fingers on his chest.

“What made you change your mind?” He asks, hesitant as he is because what if he doesn’t like the answer.

_I got carried away._

_Payback._

_It was the heat of the moment thing._

_I thought it would be funny._

_I thought I’d like it but I don’t._

Dean shrugs jerkily, clears his throat, and starts peeling the label of his beer bottle. He mutters something that Diego doesn’t catch. Maybe he was too quiet or maybe Diego didn’t hear him from the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

“What?” He asks.

Dean clears his throat again, “I said I, uh, I saw you.”

“That sounds like a line from a rom-com,” Diego responds numbly, not knowing what else to say.

Dean knocks their knees together and tells him, “Jackass.”

Diego’s mouth twitches into a grin. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but it sweeps over him in a slow, all-consuming wave, filling up every crack in him. He wants to keep feeling it forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno if you guys have seen the updated notes for this series (I have no idea if you get notifications for that or whatever), so I just want to let you know I made a Discord server if anyone's interested. :)


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